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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29040759">Car windows open in the summer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aredhel_Alcarin/pseuds/Aredhel_Alcarin'>Aredhel_Alcarin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cobra Kai (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, blowjob, what's gayer the gay flag or whatever these two have going on</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:28:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,004</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29040759</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aredhel_Alcarin/pseuds/Aredhel_Alcarin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny parks in front of LaRusso’s suburban countryside dreamhouse, turns off the lights and pulls the handbrake. That’s his first mistake.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Car windows open in the summer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s over. They’ve won.</p><p>They’ve won, and John Kreese has left town and won’t bother them —him— again. It’s true that this is only half the solution, and they will have to undo (and, most importantly, unteach) everything he’s done and said; but he’s gone. He’s out of their lives— now forever. There’s a little, teeny tiny and very annoying voice in his head telling him that this also means Cobra Kai will be forever out of their lives, of his life; and Johnny would be lying if he said that doesn’t dampen his mood a little. But, well. That’s life, right? He still has Eagle Fang. He can work with that.</p><p>They’re at some bar, LaRusso and him, I mean; celebrating. Daniel. Johnny’s made good progress in the whole calling-LaRusso-by-his-first-name business, at least when he’s talking out loud, but it’s impossible to refer to him as anything else than ‘LaRusso’ in his mind. He’s tried. Anyway, they’re at a bar, because they’re already celebrated with the kids in a kid-friendly way (which was still a little bit too much for Daniel and yet way little for Johnny, but they managed to come to a sort of middle ground as an agreement. They do that now. Johnny gets it, they’re still too young, blah blah. They still should have fun, while they can); but, you know. This is important for both of them, in different ways; and they both needed a moment to really savour this victory in a way the kids wouldn’t understand. It’s not their fault, they just don’t have all their history, but finally (and truthfully) burying the hatchet between them feels— liberating. Sort of an epiphany.</p><p>Johnny chose the place, a decrepit and almost hidden shack he used to frequent at a very low point in his life, and LaRusso accepted because he thinks this has a more emotional weight on Johnny than it has on him, despite everything; and while it’s true, he shouldn’t have anything to do with Johnny’s mixed feelings. He shouldn’t notice them, nor taking them into consideration, and he <em>definitely</em> shouldn’t involve himself in any way.</p><p>Yet here they are.</p><p>Johnny relaxedly chugs his eleventh Coors Banquet, because he’s actually enjoying it and he can actually handle his alcohol, unlike <em>someone</em>; and it’s nice to be drinking just for the fun of it with good (he has used that word unwittingly) company and having a good time instead of drowning your demons to stop thinking about your shitty life. So, yeah. Plus LaRusso is surprisingly hilarious when he’s drunk, which <em>he is</em>, very much; but Johnny guesses that’s normal when you don’t usually drink since 9am and suddenly decide a day is a day.</p><p>He’s touchy and giggly and overall a mess, but like a, uh, charming mess? <em>Pleasant</em> mess? Something that you would laugh at but without malice or hostility, like those videos of stupid animals stumbling or bumping into a glass and it’s funny but secretly you hope they’re OK. He hasn’t drunk <em>that much</em>, honestly, or, well, maybe he has (Johnny hasn’t been counting); but it’s his fault for ordering something fancy at a place where the cloth the barman is using to clean the glasses smells like gasoline. He’s all smiles and sparkly eyes and hands on Johnny’s shoulders, although Johnny’s not sure if he’s trying to be friendly or he simply needs help keeping his balance since he’s having some trouble standing on his feet.</p><p>Ha! Daniel LaRusso needing him to keep his balance. What would Mr Miyagi say!</p><p>But, well. They should probably start thinking about going home, not that Johnny is tired anyway, because he could perfectly last the whole night partying like he did when he was sixteen; but let’s say it’s for LaRusso’s —Daniel’s— sake. He should be home, sleeping it off.</p><p>“Hey” Johnny says, making Daniel focus his glassy eyes on him. “Time to go.”</p><p>LaRusso extends his arms like saying, man, come on. He looks like a drunk Corcovado Christ, his expensive shirt redeeming the general vulgarity of the place, but maybe that’s what he was going for.</p><p>“I’m paying.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know, but it’s late and you have a wife and, you know, a job. Kids.”</p><p>“I do” Daniel says, gravely, like he’s just remembered; and Johnny scoffs an incredulous laugh while managing to get him outside.</p><p>Now Johnny is a hundred percent sure Daniel was using him as physical support before, watching him follow his steps with the same dignity as a toddler who’s just learn how to walk. Somehow it’s not as pathetic as it sounds, mostly because he’s not angry and depressed and dreading the trip back to an empty, sad and miserable apartment; but it’s still, you know. Funny. He can look after himself.</p><p>Suddenly, when they’re about to part ways and go for their respective cars, Daniel dramatically grabs Johnny’s arm, stopping. Johnny turns to him, puzzled.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>And Daniel is thinking very hard about something, his brow furrowed and his jaw as tense as if he were trying to calculate the square root of a five-figure number, so maybe he needs to go to the bathroom? He could have gone before going out, but, like, it’s not that big of a deal. Honestly, Johnny would have peed right there if he were this drunk, not that anyone would notice—</p><p>“Johnny” Daniel starts, and Johnny prepares for the worst. Then Daniel raises his head. “I’m drunk.”</p><p>Johnny simply stares.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“I can’t go home like this.”</p><p>“What do you mean you can’t go home like this? You’re an adult, you’re expected to drink on a night out.”</p><p>“I mean I can’t <em>drive</em> like this” Daniel says, and, OK, even drunk he’s way more civil than Johnny. He could punch him. (He could punch him mainly because he kind of agrees, and surprisingly he would worry leaving LaRusso on his own in this state). “Can I come back with you and stay in your flat? House? I’ll leave first thing in the morning, I just need to call— text Amanda” he corrects, listening to himself slur the simplest word, “and tell her I’m fined. Fine. I’m not fined yet.”</p><p>This is probably the most ridiculous proposition Johnny’s ever heard, because letting LaRusso’s drunk daughter sleep at his house as a favour to Miguel, a person he very much appreciates, is way different than letting <em>drunk LaRusso</em> crash at his house. What are they, friends? What a cheesy word, anyway. Buddies. Colleagues. Uh, rivals. Pals? Which they’re not. They can be— business partners. And business partners don’t let each other sleep on their couch. So Johnny laughs, partly because he’s also a little bit drunk (but, like, a normal amount); but mostly because he’s terrified of having the smallest intimacy with any other human being, especially if they’re 1) successful and 2) men.</p><p>When Daniel’s inebriated brain finally realizes he’s not going to get a ride he sighs, resigned, and struggles to open Google maps.</p><p>“Where are we?” he asks, lifting his eyes to try and recognize the area. “Do taxis come here? I can’t tell if we’re too far away to walk home. What time is it? I’m gonna get robbed, but these people don’t know I know karate” he says, getting into position and almost throwing his phone in the process. Yeah, very threatening.</p><p>He looked way more upper-class a few hours before than he does now, let’s be honest; but it’s true that he still seems out of place with his neat haircut, clean fingernails and polished shoes. Kind of telling that he still thinks himself as the one who’s going to be attacked, rather than the one attacking (is that what Mr Miyagi taught him? Kind of counterproductive, if you ask Johnny), but you probably can’t take the scrawny boy out of the businessman. For some reason there’s a tiny part of Johnny that feels responsible for Daniel, at least in this state, so he rolls his eyes and takes his phone before he can make a call. He’s not tired, anyway.</p><p>“Listen, I’ll take you home” he says, making sure he’s listening to him. “Now stop complaining and get in the car.”</p><p>Daniel does as he’s told and sits on the co-pilot seat, closing the door and trying to fasten his seatbelt (it’s stuck. Johnny is going to fix it, really, but who cares? He never has company. I mean, sometimes he has, but no one has complained. No one tries to use it.)</p><p>“Leave it, it’s stuck. I’ll go slow” he lies, closing the driver’s side door and starting the engine. He really hopes it’s a peaceful drive.</p><p>It is not.</p><p>Well, that’s not entirely true. The drive <em>is</em> very peaceful, with Daniel half groggy and half singing whatever Johnny puts on the radio, even if he has no idea about the lyrics; and it’s also not that long. The drive is OK. It’s when they arrive at Daniel’s house that things start to get complicated. </p><p>Johnny parks in front of LaRusso’s suburban countryside dreamhouse (and, really, it’s not that Johnny’s ashamed of his shaggy apartment; but you can always miss having money), turns off the lights and pulls the handbrake. That’s his first mistake. He shouldn’t have stopped the engine, either, and he <em>definitely</em> shouldn’t have turned to Daniel to tell him to get off the car; but then it was too late. </p><p>In his enthusiasm trying to give Johnny a (too affectionate) good-bye, and probably as a sort of ‘thank you’ for bringing him home, Daniel’s hand tripped over the gear stick while leaning on it in his way to give him a hug. Their noses bumped, there were suddenly many arms, and their lips brushed. </p><p>That’s it. </p><p>It doesn’t sound better written down. Presumably none of them realized, though! And decidedly <em>not</em> LaRusso, as drunk as he is, he’s too focused on trying not to laugh and finishing his unsuccessful hug; there’s nothing to worry. They’ve just bumped their heads, crashed, really; and there are few things more manly than two bighorn rams fighting. Which they are. Bighorn rams, I mean. You know, like those in the National Geographic wild nature documentaries, you have seen it. This can be considered a karate move. And you know what? Johnny is also <em>not</em> thinking about— <em>it</em>, because there’s nothing to be thinking about. </p><p>The fact that Johnny hasn’t been able to move doesn’t mean anything, it’s just that he’s a bit startled. Daniel hasn’t moved either and his chuckling vibrates against Johnny’s jaw and it’s making him feel, uh, what’s the opposite of numb? Or maybe it is numb. He doesn’t want to use the words <em>sexually aroused</em> because they don’t even go here, what the fuck are you saying, and how is his mind going so fast when his arms aren’t able to move and push LaRusso out of his way and towards his house? </p><p>Maybe it’s the lack of response, but Daniel recovers from his fit of laughter and rests a hand on Johnny’s bicep, which is, we all have to admit, way steadier than the gear stick. And Johnny wouldn’t have think much of it if Daniel weren’t touching —grabbing— him almost appreciatively, like sensing his muscles; and maybe it would have been better if Johnny were wearing a long-sleeve shirt instead of feeling the warmth of Daniel’s hand skin to skin. <em>Warmth</em>. What kind of word is that. It does feel nice, yes, and if LaRusso weren’t, well, <em>Daniel LaRusso</em>, the story would be different; but <em>he is</em>. So this is ridiculous. And Johnny hasn’t moved yet, for God’s sake! One of his arms is captive but the other is free! Do something! </p><p>Unaware of his struggle Daniel gently puts his free hand on Johnny’s thigh, clawing at the inner side, and now Johnny won’t be able to move ever again. If only that hand would stay still. It wanders, his fingertips pressing into his flesh as if the thick denim wasn’t there, the hem of his jeans marking the skin underneath as if it were Daniel’s neatly cut fingernails; up, up. </p><p>Listen, it’s been a long time. You can’t put this on Johnny. You can’t blame him for <em>moaning</em> when Daniel’s hot tongue lick his lips and his hand reaches Johnny’s thankful(ly) still covered dick, when his mind goes blank for the smallest portion of a second only for his body to regain agency and <em>finally</em> move. No, not to push Daniel away: to keep him, and specially his hand, exactly where it is. Johnny still has to assert whatever dominance he has left. He angles his face to deepen the kiss, to actually kiss, really; and opens his legs in what is, surprisingly, not the most uncomfortable position he’s been while receiving a handjob.</p><p>This <em>is</em> probably the most uncomfortable Daniel has been while giving a handjob, if you can believe he’s ever given one to anyone other than himself; but the only thing the fucker does is smile playfully into the kiss. Like this is— funny. And maybe it is to him, reeking of alcohol as he still does, to have Johnny pressed against the seat.</p><p>It’s very difficult not to think of all the things this very unusual situation could lead to, of all the things Johnny would be doing right now if the circumstances —the person— were different. And it’s not that he doesn’t find LaRusso attractive, it’s not even that he would rather be with anyone else in particular; it’s just, well. Weird. Not bad weird, just weird. It’s hard to reconcile the image of tanned fingers disappearing inside his jeans (of eager teeth bruising his lips and any uncovered skin, a wet heat sucking below his earlobe, the familiar agitation tensing his stomach); with the hatred he’s always felt while looking at him. Maybe not <em>hate</em>, not lately anymore, at least; but this— anger. This feeling of inferiority and envy and resentment. It’s hard. He’s hard.</p><p>A firm hand grabs Johnny by the back of his head, a gentle thumb rubbing a surprisingly sensitive spot somewhere below the crown of his head; and he would die to get that shaky breathing he hears himself making out of Daniel, but he can’t bring himself to initiate anything. He can’t be responsible for this, but this is fine. This is fine because LaRusso is inebriated and feeling bold and won’t remember a thing tomorrow (and, if he does, he would think it was some sort of wet dream. He won’t ever ask to confirm. Johnny will deny everything if he does, anyway, but he won’t. This is too surreal).</p><p>This is fine because Johnny can also think of it as a wet dream, one he <em>will</em> remember, but only before going to sleep. It doesn’t mean anything if it’s LaRusso who comes to him. What’s he gonna do, turn down a handjob? In this economy? He knows what those hands can do when they want to hurt, now it’s time to know what they’re capable of in a different context.</p><p>Like, right now.</p><p>(Helping Daniel unzip his pants to have better access doesn’t count. He’s very drunk, he needs help.)</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>Daniel’s hand is firm and it’s not like Johnny needs much more to wander free in pleasure, but fuck this guy is horny. With Johnny’s jeans now half-down as much as the seat and his open legs let him he’s completely exposed now, rosy tip and everything, and Daniel is not even watching it appear and disappear into his fist because he has his face buried against Johnny’s neck. The car is suddenly very small and there’s very little space and Johnny would like to push Daniel against a wall and lift him by his thighs, his legs crossed on his back pressing their bodies together until Johnny could feel his own stomach smeared with Daniel’s leaking.</p><p>Was LaRusso hard? Johnny would die to know (he must be, right?), but his hand doesn’t dare to go farther than his waist, his lower back. Somewhere not too close, but near enough to his belt he can quickly unfasten it if he finally loses any sense of self-preservation. Daniel’s fingers are rough and slow— fast— and slow again, probably not following any planned pattern but simply because he ends up getting lost in the messiest of kisses and forgets his hand is trying to make Johnny cum.</p><p>That’s a nice feeling to have, though. To know he can make Daniel’s mind go blank with just a touch of his tongue and some wandering lips, licking, biting, sucking; without even touching him.</p><p>Johnny feels his shirt lifted on the side and an adventurous hand wandering underneath, a little lost, as if he were trying to do too many things at the same time; but Johnny won’t take it off unless Daniel physically forces him. He won’t take the first step to get fully naked inside his car, sitting on the front seat, waiting outside LaRusso’s house. He’s too old for that. If LaRusso wants to see more skin he would have to work harder than this, God knows he has the money. So Johnny would wriggle a little, letting Daniel expose his ribs and belly, but not making effort to raise his arms (which are, by the way, a little bit occupied mapping Daniel’s own chest muscles).</p><p>Breaking the kiss (very bad idea), and after breathing heavily a couple of times, Daniel’s frustrated whine turns into a gasp of realization when he looks down, his fist still going up and down (up and down, up and down) Johnny’s very hard dick. If he doesn’t salivate, well, then he’s close. It’s kind of hypnotic, how such a repetitive movement can make his heart do a backflip and send all his energy to his crotch; as if he hadn’t seen a twitching, perfectly erect dick before.</p><p>(It’s kind of dark so it’s not like he’s seeing <em>seeing</em> it, but it’s close enough.)</p><p>Making a decision, and keeping Johnny’s chest as exposed as possible, Daniel then tries to kiss his way towards Johnny’s dick. He has to rearrange himself a couple of times, the front seats of a car not really meant for this kind of gymnastics, but he somehow fits (this is why you should keep exercising, no matter your age. You never know when flexibility is going to come in handy).</p><p>There’s a trail of wet, biting kisses alongside streaks of quick, light pecks that tickle; Johnny petting Daniel’s hair while reclining against the seat to be more comfortable, and <em>of course</em> he could get used to that. That’s the dangerous part, the, how to say it, affection? <em>Intimacy</em>? It’s good they can’t see each other’s faces, can’t look directly into each other’s eyes; and instead must settle on letting his mind wander while he brushes his fingers on the dark, short strands of hair blocking his view. Johnny can still stop this now, before it’s too late. Just go home and maybe finish it himself, you know, it hasn’t really happened if he hasn’t come; and—</p><p>But then Daniel’s mouth is breathing hot against his dick, nuzzling his crotch, and you know what? Whatever. They do say eating is good for a hangover. You’re welcome, LaRusso.</p><p>A surprisingly tentative lick with his tongue flat, not subtle or light but <em>shy</em>, runs along the whole of Johnny’s length before sucking lovingly at the tip. The hand that Johnny had resting on Daniel’s head closes into a fist, and it’d be so easy to just push him and fuck his mouth mercilessly until he gagged, wouldn’t it? To make him pant his name with a hoarse voice, husky, rough; and then— what? He never dares to think beyond, in case the fucking ends and he falls into his arms, and they kiss, and touch, and just sleep. He couldn’t just <em>sleep</em>. Too close, too warm (that’s that word again), too comfortable. Too scary.</p><p>So Johnny lets his head rest against the backseat, his hips rocking along Daniel’s (complete lack of) rhythm, and stops thinking. Daniel’s mouth closes around his dick and realizes very soon he’s going to have trouble putting it all inside, but he tries anyway. He tries a couple of angles, one of his hand lazily massaging the base, and after some trial and error he decides to simply French kiss it.</p><p>There’s saliva and pre-cum smudging the corner of Daniel’s mouth, dripping from where his lips are stretched around Johnny’s dick, sucking, sucking; but he doesn’t seem to care. None of them do, actually. When Daniel decides to treat the pinkish tip as a lollipop, doing God-knows-what with his tongue and pursing his soft lips to press against that super-sensitive flesh, Johnny clenches his jaw and closes his eyes honestly relieved that no one can see his face at this exact moment. Then Daniel goes for it again and swallows half of it and fucking makes a very loud moaning sound that vibrates against his skin, as if <em>he</em> was the one receiving, and fuck that’s hot but also how is he going to look at LaRusso in the face again.</p><p>Johnny could be mean and say this is a rather mediocre blowjob, unfocused and messy but not exactly in the best way; but even the worst tastes good when you’re hungry and, boy, was he hungry (it has nothing to do with it being Daniel). Johnny’s grunts seem to encourage him, his fist on his hair making him eager; Daniel’s hands peeling the jeans from his pelvis to have more skin to rub against. Are the windows foggy? He prefers not to look.</p><p>Well, he very much prefers to look, but not at the windows.</p><p>Daniel doesn’t seem to realize Johnny is almost there, almost, practically touching the finishing line here; so he tries to warn him by yanking at his hair which, <em>what the fuck</em>, seems to make him even more greedy. Dude’s really eating him.</p><p>“Daniel” Johnny grunts, trying really hard to focus when he feels his consciousness drifting towards seeing stars, “<em>LaRusso</em>—”</p><p>And Daniel tries, he really tries, but he’s just not used to it and so he ends up coughing with the first spurt and half his face smeared in cum. Well, that’s nice. That’s— very nice, actually, and Johnny would frame that image in his mind for future references; but right now he really needs— needs, when he’s remembered where he is again, he needs to clean that fucker’s face before <em>anyone</em> sees it covered in jizz.</p><p>Johnny is still coming back to himself when he sees Daniel ruffling his own hair from the corner of his eye, he guesses trying to brush it (he’s not going to make it better), and then attempts to clean his face with the sleeve of his shirt.</p><p>“No, no, no!” Johnny exclaims, catching his hands. “Stop! Use, uh—”</p><p>Shit. He doesn’t have tissues in the car (why would he?!) and, in a moment of panic, he grabs his own hoodie. Worse things have been used to wipe cum.</p><p>He cleans Daniel’s face as best as he can (he scrunches his nose and tries to avoid it, like this isn’t his fault), turning the interior light on to see better, and searches for any possible stain on Daniel’s button-down shirt or in his own clothes. Every bit of tension he has released in the last five minutes have come back doubled, tripled; and the pearly drops of sweat he can feel on his temples may very well be from anxiety and not, you know, the sex before. Kinda sex. It does smell a bit of sex in here, like a humid, stagnant heat; he should have opened the windows before. Johnny takes his now disgusting hoodie off, leaving it on the backseat, and finally everything seems to be good. No, his zipper is still down. <em>Now</em> everything is good.</p><p>Or, you know. As good as it can be.</p><p>Johnny huffs, tired (exhausted, really), and opens the door to the cool night breeze (should he leave the windows down and try to air the interior of the car?) to finish this stupid and delirious dream and go back to his house to forget it has ever happened.</p><p>(He’s not going to be able to forget it. Ever.)</p><p>Daniel exits the car, precariously standing on his feet, and Johnny offers his shoulder for him to lean against. This is OK, this is proper touching for two drunk adults who have spent the last thirty years hating each other and have now decided to form an alliance against a common enemy. This is also very quiet. Too quiet, if you ask Johnny, their steps not making any noise over the freshly cut grass (ah, yeah, they’re stepping on the grass, sorry); the faintest creaking or buzzing sound coming from God knows where feeling extremely loud and abrupt into the silence, and now Johnny can’t stop thinking if they have been loud enough to be heard.</p><p>Which is stupid because they have been pretty muted and the car windows were closed, he’s just being paranoid; and anyway the walk to Daniel’s door is being longer than he imagined (is it really longer or is time just running weirdly since the blowjob? Is this going to be like this forever?), so they’re safe. He’s safe.</p><p>How he wishes he would have come on the face of literally any other person.</p><p>“You have your keys, right?” Johnny asks in a gruffly whisper when they arrive at the door, too stressed for someone who should be dancing in the aftermath of orgasmic blissfulness, and prepares to drop Daniel inside as soon as he gets the chance. He will leave him exactly where he falls.</p><p>“Sshhh” Daniel reproaches him, searching for his keys and being only partly successful, “it’s late. Everyone’s asleep.”</p><p>“I wish <em>you</em> were asleep.”</p><p>For some reason Daniel doesn’t take that as the insult it’s supposed to be, and exhales a smug laugh through the nose. Yeah, well, someone should draw a dick on one of your ads again. See if you laugh! Turns out it wasn’t that far from reality as you thought. He finally finds the key and decides to test Johnny’s patience by pressing it against everything except the keyhole, and someone is going to be pissed tomorrow when he finds so many scratches on the lock and nearby lacquered wooden door, but that’s none of Johnny’s problems (for once). It really can’t be that difficult to open a fucking door, for God’s sake.</p><p>There’s a noise coming from inside right when Johnny can’t take it anymore and tries to snatch the key from Daniel’s hands to open the door himself, and the door unlocks from inside revealing the alarmed face of Amanda LaRusso when it opens.</p><p>This is going great.</p><p>“Daniel!” she exclaims, ready to either slap him or cuddle him, but realizes he’s not alone before she can say anything else. “Johnny!”</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>How nonchalant. That’s good. That sounds natural. Amanda presses her lips, worried but somehow about to laugh, and raises an arm to touch his husband’s cheek. He looks pleased. She, not so much. Johnny feels the most pleased, though, about the great job he has done cleaning LaRusso’s face.</p><p>“Should I be worried?” she ends up asking in a hush tone.</p><p>“Nah” Johnny says, passing Daniel’s almost dead weight onto her. “He’s just drunk.”</p><p>Amanda frowns at his husband, sighing with what feels like a familiar tone but for not so familiar reasons, and puts the keys in one of the pockets of her night robe. She looks apologetically at Johnny.</p><p>“I’m sorry. He doesn’t usually—”</p><p>“We were celebrating. We, uh, had a good time. Don’t worry.”</p><p>So she smiles, genuine but a bit strained, and lets it be. She has been nice to Johnny most of the time, civil, at least; but Johnny also knows that bringing a plastered Daniel to her door after a night of partying is going to be remembered as a ‘Johnny thing’, way out of good-husband-better-citizen Daniel LaRusso’s regular behaviour. Does Johnny want to be on good terms with LaRusso’s wife, or does he simply feel guilty now that she’s standing there, in front of him? It sounds ridiculous either way, but it has to be one or the other.</p><p>It may be Johnny’s impression, but she’s also making an effort to— what? Not scold him? Them? She doesn’t look angry or tense, less now that he has checked Daniel is OK, but there’s something bugging her.</p><p>“Well, thanks, anyway. I’ll make sure he goes to get the car back tomorrow.”</p><p>“Yeah” Johnny says, because he doesn’t know what else to do, and turns to leave. “Well, good night.”</p><p>“Johnny, wait” Amanda calls, a sleepy Daniel clinging on to her in a sort of lazy bear hug, his cheek rubbing against her hair; and Johnny swallows. They’re still talking at the door, them inside and Johnny just one step outside on his way to his car and his house and his thoughts; and this whole situation could be really funny under different circumstances. It should be funny (it <em>will</em> be funny, hopefully), “it’s late.” Whatever inner debate Amanda had going on, one side has won. “You can stay the night, if you want. It’s no problem.”</p><p>“No” Johnny says, way too fast, and awkwardly tries to soften it. “I mean, I can’t” he almost blurts ‘I’d like to’ in his effort to sound polite, not that it was a lie, but he catches it soon enough to leave it unsaid. “I, uh. Better get going. Good night.”</p><p>“OK” Amanda nods, and (relieved? Disappointed?) waves him good-bye.</p><p>While Johnny is leaving, the couple at his back but visible from the corner of his eye, he can hear Daniel kiss his wife and tell her, with a cheeky smile in his voice,</p><p>“We’re friends now.”</p>
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